I love it when you call me il papa!

Both Jive and I grew up what we describe as "ethnically Catholic" meaning that neither of our households were crazy religious or even went to church on a regular basis. What it means is that essentially, we are supposed to identify as Catholic, or raised Catholic, based on our race(s). I went to a Catholic elementary school, and so did Jive's siblings, but not him. My brother went to a Catholic all-boys high school, and my parents, being clever and seeing the error of their ways, sent me to prep school instead. My relationship with religion isn't torrid at all. These days I pretty comfortable with my ironic collecting of saints and saints candles. I appreciate Jesus bling, and Jive has grown to embrace the fact that his parents have a safe filled with what he lovingly refers to as his "guido gold".

This was not always the case. During my Catholic school days, around second or third grade, I was utterly terrified of not being saved. I was constantly paranoid that at any moment I was going to die and, the the evil sinner that I was, I would go to hell, because although I had acccepted baby jebus into my heart, I never felt all good and bible-thumpy . And this was of course, reinforced constantly by us kids being told that we could indeed go at any moment, so we better confess and pray always! So my biggest fear as a little kid was death. For some reason I became convinced that I was going to die when I was in the garden. Yes, my family had a little backyard garden, that for some reason, despite my incredibly indoor-centric ways, I thought the garden was pretty keen. What can I say, I like fresh veggies? And yeah, today the closest thing I have to a green thumb are my fingertips after rolling a joint, I still can say I like vegetables. Anyway, I think being under the open sky like that while plucking tomatoes made me think that I was going to be struck down by god at any moment and then I would be dead. Needless to say, my bookish ways got the best of me, hearty skepticism set in, and by around 5th or 6th grade, I no longer feared the wrath of my vengeful gawd, and was on the path towards my atheism. A story for the ages!

Although, the pope and I do have something in common, advocating the learning of Latin! During my prep school days, I took both Latin AP exams, discovered Catullus, and I'd really like it if I could still read and translate, but hey. So yeah, me and the pope, bringing back dead languages, yo.

dead playlist shuffletime variety hour!

Jive enters the room.

“What’re you listening to?”

“Oh the LCD Soundsystem that you uploaded to itunes.”

“Yeah, I don’t really get why they are like everyone’s favorite band of the year.”

Generic conversation ensues about the merits of said band and respective Pitchfork, and Idolator reviews and praises.

“Yeah well, it sucks that it is next to KT Tunstall in my itunes. Can I please take this out?”

Jive got mugged in our hood about two months ago, losing his beloved ipod so I’ve been sharing my ‘lil video nano as much as possible, and allowing the additions of some songs and albums, naturally.

“I love that happy little song, shutup.”

“That song is everything that is wrong.”

“Ok, I’ll agree with you there, but it’s such a happy little song!”

“Wow, I didn’t expect you to agree with me, I expected you to call me a bitch.”

“Yeah well, I like that song.”

“Dude, if I die, someone is going to think I like fucking KT Tunstall! These are the things I worry about.”

“No one is going to look at your ipod if you die.”

“Yes they are, if I die in the street or something.”

“Look, if you die, I’m going to be the one who goes to identify the body anyway, and I will take the ipod.”

“If I die in the street somewhere, and am taken to the hospital someone is going to look at my ipod and think I liked KT Tunstall.”

“No one is going to look at a dead woman’s ipod!”

“Yes they are, I would!”

“You’re sick.”

“I really would, if I worked in a hospital or something.”

“That’s morbid yo.”

“No it’s not, its curiosity. The same reason people read collections of people’s suicide notes.”

“That’s because suicide notes are fascinating.”

“So are dead people’s ipods and playlists!”

“There should be a website, like PostSecret.”

“Or deathspace.”

“Yeah.”

Oh, and the song that plagues my mind (and itunes) is that favorite of plucky romantic comedies featuring career gals that are supposed to be average and identifiable-with, but of course are superhot, and kinda clumsy to make them more real and lovable, but they're all versions of the ideal woman anyway JUST THE WAY THEY ARE .

SUDDENLY I SEE! THIS IS....etc.

I need a beer.

It's me, the drunk that ruined christmas!

If I were to be completely honest about myself and why I've been so upset with everything this week, what I would really say is that I am mean, I'm disappointing myself, and I'm frustrated how I haven't turned it around yet, even though I quit less than a week ago now, and I know I need time. I do feel right about doing that, for the reasons previously stated and so much more. I'm argumentative and I don't know what I am supposed to be doing right now.

Plus, I ruined the holiday party. Which was so nicely pointed out to me, days later, by my former CEO when he said, "I don't mean to embarrass you, but you ruined the holiday party."

Now, why would you say that to me, really? I had already put in my notice. Why would you say something like that, other than to upset me, when I'm already leaving? I can say, if nothing else, this helped push me a bit more towards the way I'm supposed to be going. Which is not that way.

So you know that horrible feeling you have after something truly terrible has happened - not trivial terrible like a fight or even a bad breakup, but something that bends the direction of everything - its the stomach feeling that I had after my mom died, the one that made you feel like raw nerves and when you're resting or asleep, you've not even calm then - that feeling, it's how I've felt the rest of the week, up til now, and I'm not sure why.

I don't really care how many times my face hits the pavement, or that people in an industry I never want(ed) to work in will never take me seriously, but maybe I can't shake the feeling that someone told me I ruined something.

On my face hitting the pavement at least 50 times in a single night

I am so thankful that I did not break my glasses. And amazed, mostly amazed.

So to start near the beginning, early/mid October I accepted a crappy assistant job at an advertising agency. I don't know what made me decide to try this out. That's kind of a lie, I was sick of being broke, and although my heart is in publishing as I have come to realize, I decided to try something new that wasn't in danger of folding. I decided that I would be gung-ho about this and smiled my way through the interviews, assuring people that I didn't mind starting out at the bottom, since I was new to the industry, as long as it meant I would be considered for internal positions as they opened. 2.5 months of personal errands for the CEO later, and zero creative work done, despite my background in pitching, media experience, etc., I put in my two weeks on Monday, aka the day of the holiday party. This was a hard decision for me of course, because I don't quit things, but there really wasn't any other way. And I didn't want it on my resume, because it was/is seriously much crappier than anything I've done before. I may have sort of hated my first job after college as an Editorial Assistant, but at least I was miserable while holding down real responsibilities and tangible projects. Real work, in other words. This was a far, far cry from any of that.

Let's go back to Monday. I verbally gave my notice to the HR person, and told him that I was planning on giving it to my bosses in writing that day as well, except for one thing - I had just been asked to come to the company holiday party to hold the box for the raffle. Think about it. I must have had a look of mild horror on my face, because the CEO dude was like, "What?" and I responded that I wasn't dressed up (jeans, chucks, track jacket) because on Friday I had been told that I would be running around town buying gifts for the raffle. He said that's ok. Someone else chimed in that they could get me a Santa hat. So that day I was given the task of going out to get wrapping paper and pretty-ing up an old Poland Springs water box. So as everyone else packed themselves into cabs, and set off on the train downtown to the party locale, me and my box trailed behind.

They set me (and my denim and bright blue chucks) up at a table near the back, and every now and then someone made an announcement on the mic to come drop your name in the box for the company raffle. Now, since I was told to man the box, some kind souls offered to get my drinks from the open bar. I was ever so grateful, since it was just me at the table, furiously texting with Jive Turkey about how people were already getting drunk and asking me about what the prizes were, and how I didn't know, and hey, let's meet up at Metro in an hour.

I know it sounds lame, but I hadn't eaten all day. Not a damn thing. Sometimes I just don't. Blame drugs, blame my irresponsible and unhealthy nature, who knows. I must have been carrying some residual anger about the box, because I pounded a few g+t and declared them weak (to myself), probs because I am used to the strong drinks of the gay establishments I frequent. So I switched over to dirty martinis. Why? Why? The last thing I remember was finishing a martini and then I woke up in my bed.

I wandered into Jive Turkey's room where he so kindly informed me of how the evening played out. The short answer was awful. As I began to feel the effects on my body yesterday, today it is basically just one big bruise. I hit the pavement a million times, my legs stopped working, someone called JT to come get me, we all got stuck in a revolving door, I don't remember a damn thing. I sent a heartfelt Facebook apology and thanks to the dude who I thought, from JT's description, basically carried me out of the venue and into the cab. And of course, it was not him. I did have him fill me in on some of the events before JT showed up to come get me. Apparently he tried to make me eat and I refused. I am always a class act. I inquired politely, if by any chance, I vom'd in the raffle box? No, I did not. But I wish I had. And later, in front of my apartment building, I laid down in the street a few times, and also, passed out in the trash. One of our fine, sturdy landladies assisted the weak JT in getting my corpus up the stairs and into my apartment. She thought it was hilarious, apparently.

Consequently, I took Jive out for diner food after my very shameful work day, which I did manage to live through, despite the many shrill inquiries of "ARE YOU OK??" and the fact that one of the accountants said that she was there, if I ever wanted to talk. I basically made it through the day by volunteering for every single out-of-the office mission. And I got myself some new art supplies. For fucks sake, my jeans fell on the way to the cab (I need to start eating regularly, or get smaller clothes) apparently, but not my underwear. I am ok with an entire agency thinking I am an alcoholic, is my mantra. Although I do shudder each time the lovely Jive points out the irony of the fancy advertising agency's only person of color (who is of course the lowly bitch employee) being the one who gets entirely crunk at the office party, and yells "My roommate got this, yo" as people try to assist her into the cab. I do my heritage proud.

But let this single story not speak for the bigger picture, if it can be called that. Despite the fact that I am still filled with lots of shame, I am feeling a little better when I think about What Will I Do Next? I've actually felt the urge to write something again, thanks to some great books I've read lately. I'm painting, and I'll be fine to pay January's rent. I'm maybe warming up to the idea of j-school, and I've discovered the thing that is the craigslist odd jobs section.

Now I really want the weekend to get here. I've got a date with some pastrami, and also I hope by then my body looks less like that of an assault victim.

On heart-ing Ira Glass before Showtime did.

Last month I got one of the new video nanos for myself. I must say, I first started listening to This American Life back in 6th grade - which was a year or two after the show started. It aired here on NYC NPR right after Selected Shorts, which I've also been rabidly downloading. I listened to these shows on that old timey device, the radio. I loved those damn shows, and I was also, needless to say, really fucking nerdy. And although I went off that track a bit, sometimes, I still would manage to catch both those shows over the years sometimes. But yeah, radio? So its been a while. This is a roundabout way of me saying that the soothing sounds of short stories and Ira Glass are both really helping me out these days. Probably in the same way that they transported my 12-year old egghead self back in the day. Which lately is pretty on par with myself now, aged 25. I holed up alone in my room, wishing I was in a P.G. Wodehouse story, or looking forward to when I would be clever, important and doing something like producing This American Life. Cut to now. Yeah.

I finally got myself a copy of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao this week. I was so excited for this book to come out. Sometime in high school, the short story of the same name, by this author appeared in the New Yorker. I loved it so much that I made a photo copy of it and managed to keep track of it all these years. I've lost important documents, some of my best academic papers, cute + touching letters, but I've kept this story safe. Whenever I moved in and out of dorms, crappy apartments, I always knew where those photocopied pages were. Junot Díaz moved me so much then, and to this day not for my own recognition of self, and references to New Brunswick, Rutgers, and all that other familiar turf, but because it was some of the best fiction I'd ever read. I'm a sucker for immigrant generational family conflict misfit stories with a good healthy dose of myth and history, what can I say?

Oh, everything else? Is pretty fucked, but I've got all my limbs, a book, an ipod, and I'm going to work on the rest.

what do you mean no vacation pay

so as time creeps on by i obessively watch youtube as i sit on this damn stool awaiting the hour in which iam released from my work place....so i guess once again i will ramble endlessly...i can always talk about the parade stupidity and humor that i come across on a daily basis. so first off i come to work today to be acosted by a guest asking me if i had seen his wife cus he had lost her somewhere in the city streets and promptly after that these two guys and iam guessing one of the kids who iam guessin wasnt more than 4 started harassing me about prices so me being nice tried to get them the best possible price i could so while iam trin to get them a discount i notice that the one guy is beating this seemingly innocent kid like he was Rocky, so at that point i just asked them to leave with fear in my heart,cus there was nothing really stopping him from hitting me. the rest of the evening is going smoothly expect for the lady from budapest whose luggage got lost in brussells and she keeps calling to find out if it got here yet iam starting to really dislike her...so as i read i notice that it is a sad state of affair surrounding me and my fellow bloggermates. we aint got no money i cant even buy a crackhead soup at this point and iam starting to think that this BTICH NY and rearing her ugly head at us and saying FUCK YOU.but you know what were gonna thug this shit out and and work it out AB FAB style just wait and see all we need are out flutes to wave from side to side with some possible pill mixers.
And i would like to know when these I HEART NY shirts came into style. It seems like i cant go anywhere without seeing one of these damn shirts, i mean its getting a little crazy iam seeing them in different colors, some even with rhinestones. IAM STARTING TO LOSE FAITH.....
So iam thinking that when i get paid iam gonna buy some food and what not and then i might go to the movies, iam really intrested in seeing the movie ACROSS THE UNIVERSE. The preview had caught my intrest and iam huge fan of The Beatles so iam really intrested to see how this is all gonna work for this movie.It seems like its going to be a postive movie goin experince.
Oh to explain my title iam slowly finding out that my new job isnt as cool as i though it would be.....Apparently i get NO vaction pay, NO overtime, NO personal days, nothing.... so iam thinkging if its even worth it to stay past the 3 mionth mark......iam thinking of staying and learning all i can build up some kind of rap for myself with guest and other people in the hotel industry and make my knowledge to a better chain of hotels that will give the simple pleasure of a sick day. well thats all folks

What's better than one ginormous Scarface towel? Multiple ginormous Scarface towels!

As our bus pulled up to Jay St. I took note of a giant sign - "BEACH TOWELS 3 FOR $15" and one of them was the iconic image you see to your left. Man, if I hadn't been weighed down with a good chunk of worldly goods to go sell so that the check I wrote didn't bounce, you can bet I would be on that.

While I have an entirely un-ironic love of hip hop, my interest in Scarface is less than pure. I find the movie to be hilarious and I aim to understand the rap cross-over appeal. But at any rate, you can bet that I would totally be on that sale.

But back to the morning, did you ever had a day that started off seemingly so well, and by the end of it you were off to Manhattan again to sell your crap, and contemplating stealing a withered red pepper to make a decent dinner with, as well as purchasing some rock? Well, now I have. I narrowly avoided breaking down in Midtown after being turned away from a temp assignment for being late, despite my best fucking efforts to get there by 10 AM - I took a car part of the way but thanks to BQE traffic, I had to get out and get on the train anyway. I ended the day with another interview prospect, but since I would actually be overdrawing my account to take that car, and I wasn't even getting paid, that little trip really...cost me. Thanks to the good people at the Strand and the $6 I got from Kim's (thanks guys, for not buying my brand new, unopened Troma box set) and $7 from Gamestop for 2 of jive turkey's games, I'm going to be fine. In as far as fine means about $20 for the foreseeable future, but hey. I did keep some cash out to legitimately purchase a pepper and some coconut milk so at least after all that I could make my sweet curry dinner. That I managed to eat while watching Fogi is a Bastard instead of drinking all the liquor in the apartment and contemplating how far I have fallen. Still, everything will be fine. Til then, I eat one meal a day and the cats get only dry food (we must all make sacrifices). Word.